Bohemian Rhapsodies
by prying.delilah
Summary: A night with heartbreak and alcohol, a relationship on the rocks and a very naughty game of Spin the Bottle...at least thus far...
1. A Bohemian Rhapsodizing

**So I really don't know what's up with the sudden song inspired RENT fics…but here's another one. If anyone deigns to review this…please review my other one. All I want is one.**

They never should've let Mark near the vodka.

It wasn't that he couldn't hold his alcohol…he could…under normal situations.

But they should've known that even a trip to the Life to get him piss ass drunk to forget about Maureen wasn't a normal situation.

So now Roger and Collins were stuck with a very, obnoxiously drunk Mark. After he passed out for a few moments they thought the worst was over before he climbed on top of a table, opened up his mouth and out came…

"Mama! Just killed a mannnnnnnnnnnnn" Mark cried way off-key. "Put a gun against his head! Pulled my trigger now he's…" he stopped, obviously stumped for the lyrics.

"Dead," Collins and Roger supplied simultaneously.

Mark nodded and continued. "Mama! Life had just begun! But now I've gone and thrown it all away! Mama! OOOOHHHH!"

Collins and Roger winced as Mark continued singing. "Do you think he's really going to go for the ensemble part?" Collins asked, hoping desperately that Roger would say no. Already people were turning around to see what was going on in the back of the restaurant.

"Uh…let's see…"

"SOMETIMES I WISH I'D NEVER BEEN BORN AT ALL!" Mark shouted sadly, cradling the bottle of vodka closer to his chest.

It was coming up…

Roger and Collins exchanged another glance. People were starting to get annoyed and Mark was wobbling unpredictably on the table. They really couldn't let Mark continue this alone…

"I see a little silhouetto of a clown!"

Gritting their teeth and taking in deep breaths, the other two at the table stood up and began to sing. "Scaramouch, scaramouch will you do the fandango  
Thunderbolt and lightning - very very frightening me  
Gallileo, Gallileo,  
Gallileo, Gallileo,  
Gallileo Figaro – magnifico!"

Mark's blue eyes focused in on them for a moment and they saw tears threatening to spill out.

"Sheesh," Roger leaned close to Mark's ear. "We couldn't let you have all the vodka induced fun."

"But I'm just a poor boy, nobody likes me!" Mark cried, invigorated once again.

His friends immediately draped their arms around Mark. "He's just a poor boy, from a poor family!"

The song continued, including a mini tug of war for Mark during the 'let him go!' and 'we will not let him go' lines, ending with the three joining together for the end.

"So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye  
So you think you can love me and leave me to die  
Oh baby - can't do this to me baby  
Just gotta get out - just gotta get right outta here!"

"Any way the wind blows…" Mark finished drunkenly.

RCMRCMRCMRCMRCM

Mark awoke with a hangover to end all hangovers. With a sickening rush, the night before came hurtling back to him.

"Someone's finally woken up!" Roger said when he found Mark in his bed, calling to Collins who was in the living room.

"Volume," Mark pleaded. "Uh, guys?"

"Yes?"

"Last night…did I…sing Bohemian Rhapsody at the Life?"

"Yes Mark, you did," Collins said, laughing a little.

"Why don't I remember my feet being on the floor?"

"Because you were on a table," Roger explained.

"And no one got me off?" Mark groaned.

"Apparently the good folks at the Life don't care much if patrons decide to dance and sing on tables, though they are really touchy about putting them together," Collins supplied.

"Well, all I know is that I'm never going to do that again."

Collins and Roger exchanged a look and the latter raised his eyebrow.

"At least not with the vodka."


	2. Petty Limitations

**Disclaimer: _RENT _is not owned by me. The song _I Can't Make You Love Me _is not mine either. Get off my back!**

**Uh, plot bunny that had to be written. Mark/Mimi, Mimi/Roger one shot. Enjoy!**

_Turn down the lights_

_Turn down the bed_

I turned the lights off in the room that we shared together. I wished I had convinced her to spend the night at her apartment, but she had insisted on coming to mine.

_Turn down these voices _

_Inside my head_

I had pretended I didn't know why she'd insisted on here. But then again, I wasn't stupid. Even if they liked to pretend I was.

I could hear Mark tossing in his bed next door.

_Lay down with me  
Tell me no lies_

"I love you," I whispered desperately in her ear, hoping that for once, just once she would say it back.

"I know," she said quietly. "Believe me baby, I know."

Of course she knew. I had made my love less of a secret than she'd made hers.

_Just hold me close  
Don't patronize  
Don't patronize me_

I guess it was better that she hadn't lied to me. I didn't need her pity and I didn't think I would've been able to take anymore lying. About the drugs, about her feelings, about _him._

'_Cause I can't make you love me if you don't  
And you can't make your heart feel something it won't_

It wasn't her fault really, I knew it wasn't and that's what killed me. It could've happened to either of us, it was _bound _to happen to one of us…it had just happened to her first.

I just hadn't expected it to hurt as much as it did.

_Here in the dark  
For these final hours  
I will lay down  
I'll feel the power  
But you won't, no you won't_

I couldn't take it anymore though.

It was like we were both holding on to what _used _to be what, _could _have been. We were holding onto our ideal so hard it was hard to tell when it had just died.

_I'll close my eyes  
Then I won't see  
The love you don't feel  
When you're holding me_

I couldn't help thinking of the song I had written for her, the one about her eyes. I couldn't even bring myself to look at those eyes anymore.

Every time I tried to, I felt sick.

There was nothing in them for me anymore…

When they weren't so glazed from being high, they were just empty…

Unless _he _was around.

Part of me preferred when she was high, just so I wouldn't have to see the love she didn't feel for me.

That's when I realized I must've not loved her as much as I thought.

_Morning will come  
And I'll do what's right_

_It's over,_ I thought sadly. But it had been over for a long time, it was much too late to mourn now.

Mark rolled over in bed again, I could hear him and it made me sick. I wanted to go in there, rip out his throat and make her watch.

But I couldn't bring myself to get out of bed, to pull back the covers, to tell her she was free of me.

_Just give me till then  
To give up this fight  
And I will give up this fight_

I just wanted one more night of her, one more night of my Mimi. The way she smelled underneath the scents of cheap booze and cigarette smoke, the way her hair fell across my pillow, the way her arms felt around me…

I would give it up in the morning.

I wouldn't even cringe when she went running into Mark's diminutive arms.

In the morning I would stop being so selfish.

I couldn't help but think of what Mimi had said she liked about me.

Not loved, liked.

She liked that I made it seem like I could do anything…within reason.

But I couldn't.

'_Cause I can't make you love me  
If you don't_


	3. I Could Never Rescue You

Okay, cordyangel speaking. Despite this title, the song I'm using is actually _Build God, Then We'll Talk_ from the Panic! at the Disco CD, _A Fever You Can't Sweat Out_. All the italics are not owned by me, but rather are the byproducts of Ryan Ross' incredible mind. In addition to the italics, Mimi's thoughs about raindrops on roses until the shades of the sheets are also by products of Ryan Ross' brain and therefore are not owned by me. The characters I'm fooling around with are also not mine but rather the by products of Jonathon Larson's incredible mind.

Rating: T

Summary: Just some Mimi/Bennyness

_It's these substandard motels on the (lalalalala) corner of 4th and Freemont Street. _

_Appealing, only because they are just that un-appealing _

_Any practiced Catholic would cross themselves upon entering. _

_The rooms have a hint of asbestos and maybe a just dash of formaldehyde, _

_And the habit of decomposing right before your very (lalalala) eyes. _

_Along with the people inside _

_What a wonderful caricature of intimacy _

_Inside, what a wonderful caricature of intimacy _

I really hated places like this.

It was one of those one-rooms, and the color scheme was light-gray, charcoal gray, and black.

I wondered where he found dumps like this to put me up in. No nice out of the way hotels or pretty pent houses for me, even though I knew he could afford them. He covered his trail nicely.

Places like this, they reminded me too much of where I'd grown up. I could practically see my mother at the broken down stove and my brother tearing something apart on the ground. I think I told him this once. I might've been high; I must've been high. I didn't talk about my family to anyone, let alone him.

I didn't even like the jerk that much. Or at all. After a year of him, it'd become a habit, a habit to fake, a habit for him to help me out and a habit for him to keep coming back for more.

He was smart bastard, I'd give him that.

He rolled over in his sleep, as if he'd heard me insult him.

_Tonight tenants range from: a lawyer and a virgin _

_Accessorizing with a rosary tucked inside her lingerie _

_She's getting a job at the firm come Monday. _

_The Mrs. will stay with the cheating attorney _

_moonlighting aside, she really needs his money. _

_Oh. _

I could pretend I was innocent before I met him, but it wouldn't work. I've got the _look_, that look that says while I may look really young, I know what I'm doing. I met him when I was 17 and even at that age, it'd been a long time since I could call myself innocent, and I knew that. But I also knew that I wasn't as fucked up as I am now before I met him either. Before, at least I could say I had some morals. I did what I wanted to do; slept with who I wanted to sleep with and answered to no one, least of all a guy.

And now, I was practically fucking housebroken. I did what he wanted me to do, slept with him, even though it made me a little sick.

As if to make a point even while sleeping, his arm coiled around me.

_What a wonderful caricature of intimacy._

_And not to mention, the constable, and his proposition, for that "virgin" _

_Yes, the one the lawyer met with on "strictly business" _

_as he said to the Mrs. only hours before. _

_Well after he had left, as she was fixing her face in a compact. _

_There was a terrible crash (There was a terrible crash) _

_Between her and the badge _

_She spilled her purse and her bag, and held a "purse" of a different kind. _

Part of me wanted to shoot him.

Kill him.

Rip of his prick and feed it to him.

But I couldn't.

Gently, I eased out of bed and began gathering my clothes, making a little checklist.

Shirt...ruined. He'd been a little anxious.

Skirt...fine considering the disaster it'd been through.

I slipped my shirt on all the same. It would help offset the smell of sex and his expensive cologne.

I started to leave, walking carefully in case this shitty house would collapse if treated to ungently.

He'd left money on the table. Not conspicuously. We weren't that open about our relationship. He left it partially hidden, sometimes money, sometimes drugs and I would 'steal' it.

That way, I wasn't really his whore.

Instead, I was a thieving slut, which was better somehow.

I looked at it, staring it down, wishing for it to go away. Then I wouldn't have to pretend to have the will not to take it.

Because I really didn't.

I stuffed the bills into my purse without bothering to count them. From the feel, it'd be enough.

"Leaving so soon?" Fuck. He'd woken up.

"Yeah," I said coolly, pulling on my boots as fast as I could. "I've got things I've got to do. Angel's coming by later..." I trailed off, realizing he had no clue who Angel was, probably didn't care. We didn't take about each other's lives. I didn't ask about his wife, he didn't ask about anything other than birth control information.

_Inside, what a wonderful caricature of intimacy _

_Inside, what a wonderful caricature of intimacy _

He glanced at the table. "You took the money."

I didn't answer him. Just kept on tugging at my laces.

"Good. I worry about you you know."

No, I didn't know. And I didn't care. I had to get out.

I couldn't help but think about it though.

If we'd met in different circumstances...

If he weren't such an asshole...

Maybe if I'd been a nun and he'd been a Nazi, we'd have a chance.

I could've loved him.

He was charming when he wanted to be, had a body to die for and wasn't too bad looking.

Mimi Coffin the Third.

It had a nice ring to it.

But we'd met in a sleazy bar when I was half naked, he was incredibly self-centered and egotistical, and life didn't work like the cheesy musicals. There are no raindrops on roses or girls in white dresses. Here, there were sluts and whores and cold beds with cockroaches in them and you were likely to make your hands bleed before getting the sheets back to their original color.

"I have to go," I mumbled, finally done.

"Okay," he said, watching me as I left.

Benny watched her as she skirted out of the room. Making sure she was out of earshot he touched the place where she'd been sleeping, where it was still warm.

"Goodbye love."


	4. You Know What They Do To Guys Like Us?

It's been forever since I've last posted, but school has been kicking my but from here to Sunday. And I actually didn't even write this recently, I just realized that I finished it awhile ago and never posted it. So enjoy!

Track: _You Know What They Do To Guys Like Us In Prison_ by My Chemical Romance

Loosely based, several lyrics incorporated into story. My first Mark/Roger ficlet so be nice. Or don't.

**MRMRMRMRMRMR**

He probably smelled like sweat.

Not that Roger seemed to mind. His lips were firmly on his, molding against them, his tongue slowly working it's way into Mark's mouth.

Wait-tongue?

Had that been a part of this? Probably, why else would it now be swirling around his mouth?

Mark didn't mean to, but he leaned deeper into the kiss…

He was losing himself in everything, the sensation, the conflicting thoughts and most of all…just the damn kiss.

And Roger didn't seem to care.

At last, he pulled away. Mark resented that. Why did Roger always have all the power in relationships? Why couldn't he for once take control of his own emotions; why was Roger able to play God in his life?

Roger licked his lips as he flipped a lock of hair away from his face.

Now Mark remembered, it was because Roger was so damn hot and had no qualms about using that to his advantage.

"You know what they do to guys like us in prison?" Roger sighed, pulling a cigarette from a nearly empty carton, lighting it and inhaling for a good ten seconds or so. "Shit man," he shuddered.

"Lighten up," Collins slapped Roger's back. "You and Marky boy are just two men as God made you. He has a sick sense of humor, huh?"

Mark tried to ignore them. It wasn't like he'd _wanted _to kiss Roger. Why were they playing Spin the Bottle anyway? Even Mimi, who was the youngest of the group at 20, was too old for such a high school game.

"I don't think I want to," he said at last, leaning back and closing his eyes.

"I bet they'd make us do push ups in drag," Roger said thoughtfully.

"Is there any other way to do them?" Angel asked jokingly, sorting through a carton of lo mein.

Mimi hurled a little bit of teriyaki at Angel who dodged it gracefully as usual.

"All I know is that if _I_ went to jail, I'd bring every last one of you bitches down with me," Collins said, a huge smile on his face. "I might not go down by myself, but I'd go down with my friends."

"That's almost sweet," Joanne pointed her chopstick at Collins in surprise.

"Yeah, I guess so."

But Mark wasn't listening. He was staring at Roger…perfect Roger.

Straight Roger.

Who was staring at him.

Straight him.

_Staring straight at straight me,_ Mark thought playfully, but his heart wasn't in it.

Mark wanted to tear his eyes away, to prove that he wasn't so easily affected by a pair of pretty green eyes and dirty blond hair. But he couldn't.

"Baby, I'm tired," announced Angel after stealing a quick look at the two. "I think we should go."

"It's early," Collins insisted.

"It's two a.m.," Angel said, leaving no room for argument. "You've got class tomorrow."

"Yeah," said Mimi, taking Angel's cue. "I'm actually beat and I've got to search for a job tomorrow."

"Lightweights," Maureen muttered. "Wanna go to the Kink Club?" she asked Joanne.

Joanne made a sound of disgust. "How about no."

"But Pookie," Maureen wailed as she headed for the door, trailing behind Mimi, Angel and Collins, "I promise, I'll be good."

"Don't give in!" Collins shouted behind. "See ya later guys."

"Yeah, bye," said Mimi.

They were alone.

Not that two people could really be alone.

But that's how Mark felt at the moment. Like he was hanging onto a life preserver but no one could see him sinking.

Roger still hadn't moved.

"Roger-"

"Shh."

Mark did as he was told, kicking himself inwardly.

Roger brushed a callous finger across Mark's forehead, moving a piece of white blond hair.

And then he kissed him.

_Do you know what they do to guys like us in prison?_

Mark really didn't care.


	5. No Other One

She didn't know, but after she'd fallen asleep, after _he'd_ pretended to doze off, he stared at her hair.

It was like liquid fire her hair, flowing over the dingy white pillowcase.

Those were the times when he could forgive himself for being with her. That he could forgive her for being with him.

_My girl's a liar  
But I'll stand beside her  
She's all I've got  
And I don't want to be alone_

He ran the tips of his fingers over her white skin, but stopped short of touching her arms. Even in the dark, he could feel the track marks there, burning in her skin. He had no problem looking at his own, but hers...

Hers made him sick.

_All of the drugs she does  
Scare me real good  
She's got a tattoo  
And two pet snakes_

He supposed that while he was high, he was grateful to her. Grateful to the person who'd introduced him to her glittering magical world. A world where being safe was for tomorrow and everyone was beautiful until the next morning when you woke up with a stranger's come on your face.

But while he wasn't high, he almost hated her.

Because she was going to leave him.

He knew it.

Things like her couldn't be contained, couldn't be caught. They would trick people into thinking they'd been housebroken, give the false impression that they'd settled.

But one day, he knew he'd wake up with her gone and maybe a bag of smack as a parting gift.

Either that, or she'd take all his money instead.

Thinking about that made him believe what his friends had told him, that maybe she was just a cold-hearted bitch.

_But nobody knows me like her  
Nobody knows her like me  
We're all we've got  
And we don't want to be alone_

And there was nothing he could do.

He'd proposed. Twice. Both times while they were fully clothed, sober and grounded.

And she'd laughed, told him to save it for later.

At least he could comfort himself with the knowledge that she would lead a beautiful life, bringing her "gift" to anyone who asked. Maybe she would one day, clean up, have a family.

Whatever happened to her, April Erickson was destined to be _something_, even if he wasn't.

_No there is no other one  
No there is no other one  
I can't have any other one  
Though I would  
Now I never could with one_


End file.
